


For the Fatherless

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Character Death, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James returns home to attend his father's funeral and reconnects with Albus in a way he never imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Fatherless

**Author's Note:**

> Title based the Sufjan Stevens song "For The Widows In Paradise; For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti". This fic deals with the death of Harry Potter and its effect on his children; you have been warned.

  
_Like a father to impress;_  
Like a mother's mourning dress,  
If you ever make a mess, I'll do anything for you  


James entered the kitchen quietly and moved into the dining area with the kind of trepidation he normally reserved for Ministry functions. A glance at the early edition of _The Daily Prophet_ , which had been tossed haphazardly onto the couch, read with a headline Harry Potter Dead: the Tragic Death of a Hero. Underneath the Prophet, obscured by its massive headlines and photos of an entire nation mourning, lay _The Quibbler_ ; its headlines were much more infuriating for once than the Prophet's: Harry Potter's body buried with Dumbledore's? and The Battle for Potter's Estate Rages on Before the Wizengamot. A small article in a lesser-known rag posed the question, Harry Potter's Death a Potion Overdose?.

With a wave of his wand, James lit the lot of rags on fire and let their ashes wisp away in the air before him. He was tired of the speculations and stories, tired of the reporters trying to snap a photo of his father's corpse, tired of everyone asking if he knew his father had been a potions addict, if his mother had known when they were married, if that was what caused his parents' divorce, if he was okay.

James was not okay. He was as far from okay as it was possible to be. His father's death had come as a great shock to nearly everyone he knew and loved. James had been the last to know—he hadn't spoken to his father in five years, so it made sense of course, but it still hurt that the entire family kept him out of the loop and he had to hear it on the Wireless by accident.

The living room was eerily quiet but at the same time serene. His father would have hated that—Harry had always been a man of noise and uproar; if the house was quiet, there was something wrong.

In front of him, an ornate coffin sat at the far end of the room, propped up on beautiful golden legs and wrapped in flowers and sentiments. James recognized the handwriting on the various cards—one from Harry's long-time friend, Neville, and another from Luna Lovegood's family. Looking at the coffin, which had been moved from place to place to keep the press from photographing it, James' stomach sank. Unable to contain the need to retch, James found a plant nearby and let himself go.

It was some time before he realized he was not alone. Only the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder alerted him to his brother's presence.

"You all right?" Albus asked, crouching down beside James. His hand rubbed James' back carefully in warm strokes.

James shook his head, choked beyond reply. If it had been five years since James had spoken to his father, it had been just as long since James had seen Albus. The last time, they had fought about something neither of them would remember now, and James had left on bad terms with the entire family. It seemed that in the wake of the family tragedy, Albus had forgiven him.

"It's weird being home, huh?" Albus continued. "Knowing that dad won't be making breakfast when we get up..."

Albus fell silent then, and they both turned to stare at the casket, which looked suddenly cold and dark in the shadows of the room. It wasn't what Harry would have wanted, to be shoved into a cold box and carted around before the public; he had worked his whole life trying not to keep out of the public eye, and James was sure that if he knew one thing about his father, it was that he would have wanted a private ceremony for his closest friends and family members. He would have hated the spectacle his death aroused in the world and the strain it created for his family.

Swallowing any further need to vomit, James twisted around and sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall. Tipping his head back, he covered his face with both hands. He had been so close to crying for the past week, but everything still seemed too unreal to let go. His father couldn't be dead; that was never something James thought would happen. Harry Potter was larger than life, a hero, immortal somehow. Despite their differences and arguments, Harry's death struck a deep blow to James. He felt weak all over, boneless.

Albus sat beside him and used his wand to summon a bottle of Firewhiskey from the cabinet.

"You're not old enough to—" James stopped himself with a shake of his head, sighing. "Sorry, Al... It's been so long. I still see you as this kid, waiting for your chance to go to Hogwarts, afraid of being sorted in Slytherin."

They both laughed, the tension melting away gently as they traded the bottle between them. James didn't let on that this would be his second bottle that evening. When James tasted it, the liquid was somehow sweeter after being passed along from Albus. The rim of the bottle tasted like his brother; it was familiar, warm.

"You know, Mum would have never let me drink like this," James said, after he and Albus had sat silently, taking turns guzzling the Firewhiskey.

"After you left, Dad said you were a drunk."

James turned towards Albus, brows knitted. "He did?" Turning back around, James slumped against the wall with a shrug, passing the bottle back to Albus. "Well, he was right. Mostly. It's really easy to get carried away with the alcohol and the numbness it provides. I just...stopped caring. Got into some bad shit. Alice left, told me I was verbally abusive and scared her."

Albus placed a hand on James' knee. It felt warmer and more comforting than it should have. "I never liked Alice," Albus slurred, leaning to rest his cheek against James' shoulder. "She was always such a bitch to me, treated me like some kid."

James snorted, reaching around to hold Albus at his shoulder, cradling his smaller body against his own. "You _were_ just a kid, Al."

Albus shrugged into him and snuggled closer, wrapping his free arm around James' middle. "Anyway, you're better off without Alice around."

With a smile, as he stroked Albus' spine, James nodded. "I know."

Reaching for the bottle of Firewhiskey, which was already nearly empty, James was thrown off guard a bit when Albus got to it first and their fingers bumped awkwardly. Instead of pulling away, Albus twined his fingers with James' around the bottle's neck and urged both of their hands towards his mouth. Tipping the bottle, Albus took a sloppy drink, half of the whiskey trailing down his jaw and throat, the rest slithering over their interlocked hands.

James watched, somewhat transfixed with the progress of a drizzle of whiskey, when Albus looked up. Their eyes met, a strange sizzle of green against brown, and James felt something funny in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't quite sure if he needed to retch again or if he was somewhat aroused by the way Albus was looking at him and the heat of his brother's body against his own. When Albus reached up and let the bottle drop from his fingertips, James jumped a little. The bob of Albus' Adam's apple caught James' attention, and he throbbed desperately to suckle at it and feel it jump under his teeth.

"I miss him," Albus whispered, breaking the tense silence. Albus' fingers were cold as they pressed to James' flushed cheek.

"Me too," James mouthed, unable to choke the words out, because that meant his father really was dead and he'd never had the chance to say goodbye.

Albus made the first move, and James did not stop him. When their lips met, a part of James that he had never known stirred inside him. He gripped Albus' hair tight and pretended they were safe from the storm, that he was not taking advantage of this situation, that he had been around more, that he had stopped drinking, that somewhere Alice and the son he had fathered with her were all right.

Though Albus had been the first to move in, he was also the first to pull away.

"I've been wanting that," he exhaled. "For so long, Jamie."

James closed his eyes. He was feeling that dull, numb sensation he always felt when the alcohol started to take effect. It was freeing in some sense, to just sit back and let the world spin around him, but for once the pain leaked through the cracks and he remembered his father's face. James could hear his father's voice, smell his cologne, see his smiling mouth mouthing congratulations at James' graduation from Hogwarts.

Leaning against the wall, James tried once to nudge Albus' face away from him, to bat his hands away, but Albus persisted until his warm mouth was suckling at James' throat. Unable to stop the grunt of pleasure from spilling out of him, he groped for some part of Albus to hold to keep him sane. When his fingers wrapped around Albus' shoulders so tight he swore he'd bruise him, Albus groaned in reply and sought his mouth again.

This time, their kiss was intense, full of every word unspoken between them. Albus bit at his lip until James winced; then he lapped at it to ease the throb of pain. Before James knew what hit him, his trousers were undone and Albus was pulling them off his long legs. James tangled himself, but that only made Albus want it more; Albus struggled until he gave up and went down on James without having removed the trousers at all.

Arching, James bit down on his lip in the same place Albus did but harder, harder, until it made tears prick at his eyes. Gripping a handful of Albus' hair, he held his brother still and lifted his hips, shoving his prick into Albus' mouth.

Memories trickled into his consciousness—James remembered getting Hugo drunk when they were still in Hogwarts, forcing Hugo down onto him when his cousin didn't know any better. As Albus massaged his balls, James sucked in a breath through his teeth, remembering Alice and their first horrible fuck in the back of the Prefects' bath. He remembered his father's eyes, the ones that matched Albus' but not his own, the ones he always wished he had, and the first time he passed out from drinking too much and the moment Alice said she was pregnant and the time James punched his mother for telling him he couldn't let Lily spend the night at his flat and every failure he had ever had, all the moments of fury and depression, self-hate and loathing.

Everything was fuzzy, and James had lost concentration. Halfway through the blowjob, he slumped against the wall. Albus pulled away with a groan and found his mouth, shoving his tongue desperately into him.

"Jamie, don't pass out, please," Albus whined. "You don’t understand—been wanting this for so long—been wanting _you_ —need this, please, please…"

James shuddered as Albus left him. The soft croak of his brother's name was all he managed before Albus had a hold of his hair in one fistful. Holding James still, Albus' cock slid between his lips. Numb to it, James grunted in despair and opened his mouth as Albus' thick cock pried him open.

It only took Albus ten minutes, but for James it felt like a lifetime. When it was over, Albus' seed filled his mouth; he could taste his brother's salty fluids against the flat of his tongue, and he wanted to gag. After Albus pulled out, James turned to the side and vomited on the carpet.

When he passed out, James exhaled all his worries desperately into the rug.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When James came to, Albus was kneeling beside him, stroking his hair. James groaned and wished Albus would go away. He was the last person James wanted to see, the last person who would understand, and the only person who knew what James had done to him.

"Shh, it's all right," Albus said. "Look, I've got you some water and this is for the nausea." Albus held out a small bottle full of orange liquid. "I promise, you'll feel ten times better."

James tried to sit up, but his head was spinning. Albus looked just like Harry, a whirl of glasses, dark hair, green eyes, and unconditional love. When James reached for Albus so that he could steady himself, he sought his brother's mouth. He knew he tasted like vomit and Firewhiskey, but Albus kissed him nonetheless.

There was a part of James that wished he was alone, but the rest of him clung to Albus because he knew it would be worse if he didn't.

"Calm down," Albus mouthed between kisses, breathless against James. "You should get upstairs to bed—it's nearly morning and Mum will—"

"I don't give a fuck," James growled. With all the strength remaining in his body, he shoved forward. He felt powerful and strong again when he pushed Albus down to the floor and felt for his prick. James was hard now, painfully so, and he rutted against Albus to relieve the pressure.

"James," Albus whined, struggling. "Jamie, please, get off!"

"Fuck you," James sobbed, feeling the tears brim over his eyes. Nausea set in again, dizziness overwhelming his senses, but his arousal and rush of blood to his prick overpowered every other emotion—no amount of grief, sadness, fury, or regret could keep him from this release. He deserved it. Albus deserved to be a part of it, for siding with their mum, for keeping Harry from him, for being the perfect son who never did a single thing wrong, for hating Alice when James loved her, for fucking everything up like he always did.

James went to shove into Albus, but Albus stopped him forcefully. "This first," he whispered, grabbing for his wand and tapping James' cock with a lubrication spell. "Now, do it."

James pushed in as hard as he dared. Once he was fully sheathed, all he could hear was Albus' voice off in the distance, chanting his name like a mantra: _Jamie, Jamie, Jamie…_ The sound of it drove James to the brink and tumbling over it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

James awoke in his old bed, the quilted sheets pulled up tight all the way up to his chin. When he opened his eyes, little slivers of sunlight peeled in through the windows and their sheer drapes. He remembered suddenly awaking from a similar pain, when he had broken several ribs playing Quidditch with his cousins one summer afternoon. Harry had entered, sat on the edge of the bed, and read James stories until he drifted back to sleep. Harry had kissed his forehead, hummed an _I love you_ into his sweaty brow, and tucked him in warmly.

There were other times, when James had woken from nightmares, when James and Albus had fought, when James had first been scolded for drinking and then for his attitude… Harry had always tried so hard, and James had always let him down.

As James sat up, he felt the weight of his loss and guilt settle on his shoulders. With a lurch that wracked his entire body, he sobbed aloud and felt the tears pour down his cheeks. For the first time since his father's death, James cried and was unable to stop.


End file.
